


Unknowable

by edna_blackadder



Category: Fleabag (TV)
Genre: F/M, Perspective Flip, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21828472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edna_blackadder/pseuds/edna_blackadder
Summary: Five hundred fifty-six days, twenty hours, and 48 minutes later, Claire has a request for the Priest.
Relationships: Claire/Klare (Fleabag), Fleabag/Priest (Fleabag)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 186
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fancifulfiction](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancifulfiction/gifts).



He’s found peace. _He hasn’t._

He hasn’t had to request a transfer and face the wrath of Pam. _He wishes someone would yell at him._

He’s not thinking about—

_Her eyes._

He’s not thinking about—

_Her laugh._

He’s certainly not thinking about—

_Her tits._

He’s going to speak, isn’t he.

_Fuck._

‘I know what I have to do,’ he says, under the watchful eye of a man whose name he doesn’t know and doesn’t want to know, a man who worships the same God in a different way, whose path is a safe haven from his own. ‘I’m just not sure how to do it.’

He wonders, as his statement hangs in the air, if that was what his church felt like to her. She never said what she was praying about, or why, and later events notwithstanding, he doesn’t think she went there looking for him.

He may find out. He may yet know her.

His heart doesn’t skip a beat at the thought.

It doesn’t.

It doesn’t!

**One Day Earlier**

‘Beautiful sermon, Father,’ says one parishioner, all smiles and teary eyes as she walks out into the sunlight. Her name is Elena, which is painfully close to Eleanor Rigby, as he’d once dubbed her in his mind when no one else came to a Bible study group. Sometimes he’d swear God was trolling him.

‘Good stuff as always, Father,’ says another. This one’s name escapes him, fuck it, but his daughter, Hannah, plays the oboe in the band. ‘Loved the review, too.’

He thanks them, and the next, and the next. This time he’s really not thinking about her, but he is thinking about M&S G&Ts and fuck, now he’s thinking about her. The last of them file out, but just as he starts to steal away, two more file in.

‘Hello, Father,’ says a voice that will never not sound a bit stern, but is infinitely lighter than when he heard it last.

Slowly, he turns around. She’s not there with her sister, and he doesn’t know if he’s relieved or profoundly disappointed, but someone else is there, a blond man with a brilliant smile. ‘Ah!’ he cries, accented but understandable, ‘the famous Father!’

‘Claire,’ he says, ‘long time, no see. And this is?’

‘Klare,’ she says. ‘Yes,’ she adds, with a laugh that almost doesn’t sound forced, ‘you heard that right.’

He tries not to laugh, out of respect for how many fucking times she must have to fucking say that, but he can’t hold back a small chuckle.

‘Claire and I are getting married in Finland next month,’ says Klare, holding up Claire’s hand to show off a ring. ‘We wanted to know if you could help with the wedding.’

‘We’d fly you out and everything,’ says Claire. ‘You’d be co-officiating with our Finnish pastor, to help bridge the gap between our families. We’ll put you in touch with her.’

‘Does she not speak English?’ he asks, with uncertainty having nothing to do with the question at hand. ‘It would probably be easier to just hire an interpreter for her. Don’t get me wrong, I’m honoured, I just wouldn’t want to step on any toes.’

‘Oh no, it’s not that,’ says Claire, waving a hand. ‘Her English is excellent—’

‘Better than mine!’ says Klare, and he sounds genuinely proud on her behalf. ‘But since you’re part of our story, we thought you should be represented.’

‘And she agreed,’ says Claire. ‘She’d very much like to meet you, if you would do us the honour.’

‘I’m part of your story?’ he asks, fighting back a wave of panic it usually takes a fox to bring on—

‘Oh, yes,’ says Claire. ‘My sister must not have got round to mentioning it. Your words at my father and stepmother’s wedding inspired me to go after Klare.’

‘Oh,’ he says, and that makes a lot more sense, but he can still feel God’s eyes on him. ‘I see. I’m glad they went over well.’ Then he remembers their last conversation, as he fears he always will. ‘She said you had to rush off for a work thing.’

‘That was me!’ says Klare, with gleeful exuberance, squeezing her hand. He’d swear Claire would hate that, but she’s still smiling, and at least seems sincere about it. ‘I was the work thing! She came to find me at the airport. I did not think she was even interested, but poof, there she was. So beautiful, so romantic, and all thanks to you!’

‘It was embarrassing, awkward and generally awful,’ says Claire, ‘but it’s worked out well. At least say you’ll consider it, Father. We’ll work out all the details with Pastor Heikkinen; you won’t have to lift a finger.’

‘Well,’ he says, floundering between Heaven and Earth, ‘how can I say no. I’ll just, ah, check my calendar and get back to you.’

‘Thank you so much, Father,’ says Claire. ‘We do hope to see you there.’

‘Thank you,’ he hears himself say. ‘And in any case, my congratulations and best wishes to you both.’

He’s not too surprised when Claire returns later, alone. ‘I’m aware of what transpired between you and my sister,’ she says, matter-of-factly, much more reminiscent of the Claire he remembers. ‘I’ll understand if it means you can’t say yes, but she’s said it won’t be a problem. I don’t know if I believe her, but I could desperately use some help keeping a certain person at bay.’

He swallows the last drop of G&T and opens another can. She’s within her rights to have confided in her sister, but he’d rather only God ever knew.

‘How is she?’ he asks, because he can’t stop himself. ‘What’s she, ah, been up to?’

‘She’s got on with it,’ says Claire, after only the briefest of pauses. ‘I’ll need your answer by Friday. We’re only in town for the week.’

 _She’s got on with it._ He doesn’t know what that means. He doesn’t know what he’d like it to mean.

_He does._


	2. Part II

There’s no dinner this time. He accepts Claire’s invitation, spends a month on the phone with an energetic Finnish pastor, and walks towards her flat seven times before changing his mind halfway through, until finally he’s emptying a pack of cigarettes at what might charitably be considered an ill-advised rate, staring out at a choppy lake as the sun sets even earlier than in London.

She hasn’t been to see him, either, which is just as it should be—

_Fuck what it should be._

‘Fellow smoker,’ says a voice he last heard in a dream, and the world stops on its axis. ‘Got a spare one?’

The smile playing across her face is almost the same one he remembers. A wee bit shier, perhaps, on a level imperceptible to anyone else but God, and His handiwork around them pales in comparison.

‘Sure,’ he says, careful not to let their fingers brush as he hands it to her. She takes it and lights up.

‘Sorry,’ she says, after a long drag. ‘I figured it was best to face it head on.’

‘Your sister said you were all right with it,’ he says, a flush rising in his cheeks. ‘I can go, if you’re not. Pastor Heikkinen speaks perfect English.’

‘Better than mine,’ she says. ‘Twice now I’ve nearly called her Pastor Heineken.’

‘Fuck you,’ he says, laughing, because even now, more than a year later, it’s impossible not to laugh with her. ‘Can’t unhear that now. That’s it, wedding officially ruined.’

She shakes her head. ‘The old Claire would have thought so, but I’m not sure this version would even notice. You could trip over your dress, do a fart in the middle of your homily, and—’

‘Snog her sister outside the venue?’ He shakes his head, and he thinks she might have blushed just a bit, although it’s hard to tell in the rapidly dimming light. ‘How’ve you been?’ he asks softly. ‘Really.’

‘OK,’ she says, after a moment’s pause. ‘I’ve been OK.’ Then she looks away from him, doing that maddening thing she does, and they both know he sees it, but he doesn’t say anything this time.

‘You?’ she asks, back as quickly as she had gone.

He’s been well. He’s found peace. He’s—

‘Fucked,’ he admits.

‘I’ve done a lot of thinking,’ she says, oddly hesitant for someone who has always so enviably known exactly what she wants. ‘Apart from my sister, you got me to open up more than anyone’s ever done, and there were still things I couldn’t tell you.’ She pauses. ‘Important things. An important thing in particular that I could never say because I just couldn’t get past the thought of what it might mean if I did.’

He doesn’t know what he expected her to say. It wasn’t that.

‘What did you think it might mean?’ he asks. Not ‘what was it’. He’s waived the right to know. _He’s dying to know._

‘That you’d think less of me,’ she says, between drags. ‘But you can’t truly know me without it. So I wondered, while very drunk, if that made me unknowable. Like God.’ She pauses for another drag. ‘How’s that for some fucking blasphemy.’

He sighs. ‘It’s fucking scary how much that actually makes sense,’ he says. ‘I knew you were holding something back, but it’s not like I gave you the full story of my life either. You know I didn’t always see myself in this outfit.’

‘Many, many women, if I recall correctly,’ she says, smiling a little.

‘That’s not the half of it,’ he says quietly, as the last glimmers of sunlight fade over the horizon. ‘I don’t believe it’s damning to have sins in your past. It’s only a problem if you never learn from them.’

‘I’ve learned from some of them,’ she says, looking away again. ‘Others, not so much.’

‘Let’s go inside,’ he says, shivering in the dark. ‘Is there a pub around here?’

‘Up the road, I think,’ she says. ‘Careful, though. Finland’s national animal is a fox.’

‘What?’ he yelps, and she laughs, shaking her head.

‘I'm joking,’ she assures him. ‘It’s a brown bear.’

‘Did you look that up just to say that?’ he asks, as he follows her lead.

‘Sorry,’ she says, plainly not. ‘Couldn’t resist it.’

_He can’t resist her._

*

The wedding goes smoothly enough, with no hassles worse than one obnoxious stepmother of the bride and no accidental beer-related misnaming of Pastor Heikkinen. They make quite a tag team, with not a dry eye in the house once they’ve both spoken.

At the reception, he watches the bride and groom when people are looking and watches her when they aren’t. Claire tears up halfway through her maid of honour’s toast, but then her eyes shine with bliss when Klare twirls her around the dance floor. Over his shoulder, she winks at her sister, and she nods to him in turn as she slips away.

He mustn’t follow. _He’s going to._

She looks radiant as she stands over the dark water. ‘May I have this dance?’ he asks, and she smiles and extends her hand. He kisses it with reverence he’s meant to reserve for God.

‘Nothing’s changed,’ he whispers. _Which is exactly the problem._

‘I know,’ she whispers back, holding his hand tighter than he thinks she intends.

He kisses her forehead. ‘It’ll pass.’

She nods against him. ‘Sure.’


End file.
